


Never Alone

by prxnceling



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Erestor - Freeform, Fall of Gondolin, Gen, Glorestor - Freeform, Glorfindel - Freeform, Gondolin, Graphic Imagery, PTSD, Rivendell | Imladris, disturbing imagery, elrond - Freeform, so it works for people who ship them platonically OR romantically...it's really up to you :), soul scar concept, yes i left it purposely ambiguous
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-08-10 01:56:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16461245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prxnceling/pseuds/prxnceling
Summary: Erestor is the only person who sees Glorfindel as he really is - traumatized, trembling, and terrified. Luckily, Erestor makes sure that Glorfindel knows he is never alone. (A series of one-shots.)





	1. Chapter 1

 

Glorfindel did not anticipate the panic that surged at the sight of the sword. Curved slightly, it shimmered in the light as Elrond pulled it from its scabbard and admired it.

"This is Orcrist, the goblin-cleaver. Forged by the High Elves of the west—my kin," Elrond said. He was glad that Elrond did not look at him.

His heart was beating in his throat.

The next blade was Glamdring.

_I can't do this._

He was standing guard at the entryway and listening, so that he could counsel Elrond on whatever occurred at a later time, but the obligation held no meaning to him in the face of the mind-shattering panic.

"No," he whispered. He was walking so fast that he was nearly running, but he didn't know where it was he wanted to go. He just wanted to get  _away._

 _Calm yourself._  It was a whisper from the Valar in the back of his mind; he could not tell exactly which one it was.

"Leave me be," he growled. "For one moment, stop your meddling and let me grieve what you have stolen from me."

There was no response. He took a shaking breath, breaking into a run at last, running away from it, running away from—

"Glorfindel!" A sharp voice and a sharp grasp. Glorfindel wrenched his arm from the offending grip. Erestor was before him, his brows furrowed with worry.

"Leave me," Glorfindel said. His voice shook.

"I will not leave you in a state like this," Erestor said. "Come into the library—there is no one there."

"Let me go," Glorfindel whispered. He knew he sounded like a child, and he felt like one—a child who had seen something too terrible for words.

"Come inside," Erestor said, and he sounded like he was close to growing angry. Glorfindel hesitated, and Erestor pulled him into the library and locked the doors behind them.

"Sit down," Erestor said. He guided Glorfindel to sit.

"What happened?"

He was gone.

"No, no, no." Glorfindel's heart still pounded much too hard and much too fast, and his breaths came in shuddering gasps.

 _Turgon._ His king, his friend, who he had followed across the Helcaraxë so, so long ago.  _I would have followed you anywhere._

Turgon was always so uptight, and smiled so seldomly, but when he did it felt like a fair summer breeze. Glorfindel would do  _anything_  to see Turgon smile.

 _The tower fell._   _No, no, no, no, no! I cannot lose you too!_

Too _._

Ecthelion.

The image of a pale, smiling face overtook his vision. It knocked the wind out of him. He doubled over with a groan. He bent with his head between his knees, shuddering and moaning as the pictures flashed before his eyes.  _Smiling, laughing, playing his flute, Orcrist in its scabbard at his hip. Fighting, the blade glinting. Falling, falling, falling. He's drowning! He's drowning—help him! He gasps, chokes on water, struggles to swim, but he is bleeding too heavily, and the balrog is dragging him down._

_NO!_

_Ecthelion's eyes open. A terrible fear is on his face. He stares up through the water._

_His eyes roll back in his head._

_He is dead. Orcrist is barely visible, sinking through the clear water until it comes to lie near his dead face at the bottom of the fountain._

"No!" he hissed. A cry grated against the inside of his throat. "No." He was sobbing. "Please no."

He did not know how long he cried. When at last he lifted his head, through his blurred vision he saw Erestor before him. The librarian was sitting across in another chair and drinking a cup of tea. He held a cup out to Glorfindel, and Glorfindel took it. It was warm in his trembling hands.

He thought he was done crying, but the surface of the tea rippled as a tea dripped from the end of his nose. He took a moment to catch his breath.

"What happened?" Erestor asked again. Glorfindel swallowed tightly, trying to find his voice. He opened it to speak and found his throat hurt from crying, so he took a sip of the tea.

"The dwarf has Ecthelion's sword," he murmured once he'd swallowed. "He found it. Elrond has given him his blessing to use it. And Mithrandir will wield Turgon's."

"Does Elrond know who they belonged to?" Erestor asked.

"I think so."

"I'm sure he'd try to get them for you, if you asked. If you want them."

"I don't." The thought of looking at them again, even once, was nearly too much. He would not be able to bear seeing them every day. Besides, Turgon and Ecthelion would have preferred their blades be put to use, instead of gathering dust beneath his bed. He took another sip of his tea. It was chamomile, calming, and the steam twirled upwards onto his face. 

"I wish I had not been reborn here," he whispered at last. "I wish I'd been reborn across the sea with Ecthelion—" he choked, "—with my family, with my king. I did not ask for this."

"I know you didn't," Erestor said. "But this is how it's happened, and in time you will be able to sail and see them again."

"I want him here  _now._ " Again, he sounded like a child, petulant, but it was borne of the carnal ache in his heart that never subsided.  _I miss him. I miss them. Please just let me go to them. This is not natural._  It was a plea to the Valar. They did not answer him.

"Ecthelion ought to have come back. He was greater than me in heart and valor. He would not have been so disturbed by rebirth. He would've taken on the task with pride. He was too selfless." He was getting choked up again.

"Glorfindel, you gave your life to save your people, and that selflessness has not left you. Wishing to be free of pain is not selfish," Erestor said. He stood and took the now-empty cup from Glorfindel and put it on the table, his eyes not leaving Glorfindel's face. Erestor's hand came hesitantly to touch a golden curl.

That was all the motivation that Glorfindel needed to wrap his arms tight around Erestor's middle. Erestor's arms came to cradle his head, and Glorfindel felt the tension slowly leave him. Erestor was not one who enjoyed touch, but Glorfindel needed it, and he was glad that Erestor would suffer a minor discomfort for him. The last of his tears formed a small damp spot on Erestor's robe.

"I must look at it as a blessing," Glorfindel said against Erestor's tunic. "I…I have been granted more time in Middle Earth, which I  _love._  I love being here. If I had not been reborn here, I would have missed out on so much."

He took a long breath. Erestor's hand was still rested on his hair.

"They are reborn across the sea. They will wait there for you. But here—here, you can play a part in people's lives. Where would Elrond be without you? Where would his sons be without you?"

Glorfindel looked up with a wry smile, though his face was still streaked with tears.

"What of you, then?"

"Indeed, where would I be without your idiocy to fill my days?"

"Shower me with insults all you like," Glorfindel said, laughing. "I am just glad to have you. Another reason I must count myself blessed to be reborn—I doubt I would have met you otherwise."

He leaned to hug Erestor's middle again.

He could not see Erestor's face, but he could sense his smile.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel is burned while fighting orcs with Elladan and Elrohir, and the injury sends him back to his death in Gondolin. Erestor truly sees his pain for the first time.
> 
> TW for burns and gore/disturbing imagery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for burns and gore/disturbing imagery.

When Erestor heard what had happened, he ran.

The Healing Halls were crowded with people trying to get into Glorfindel's room. Erestor pushed past them.

Elrond was there, Elrohir at his side. They were leaning over Glorfindel, curled up in the corner of the room.

Erestor had heard only tales of the soul-wounds. He had heard murmurs from Elrond that Thranduil bore such a scar. Elves healed utterly from any injury, so long as they lived through it, but the trauma could linger. When it came anew, it manifested as if the old wound had been afflicted once more, with equal pain. It would only fade when the mental state stabilized.

If not for his golden hair, Erestor might not even have recognized Glorfindel. His skin was crumpled and dark, so terribly burnt that he could not possibly be alive. His hands were clutching around his face. Between his fingers Erestor could see his eyes, pale and cloudy, searching blindly.

"What happened?" Erestor demanded. His voice shook.

"He was burned," Elrond said grimly. "He is wrapped in his mind."

There was a pale spot on Glorfindel's arm, shining, and Erestor supposed that was where the real burn was. To think that something so small could have created such a reaction seemed absurd.

"Glorfindel, listen to me," Elrond said. His face was set in sternness, but Erestor could see the fear in his eyes.

"Glorfindel, you must let me help you. It is me—Elrond." He went to grasp the wrist on Glorfindel's injured arm.

Glorfindel hissed through his teeth and struck blindly, clipping Elrond's chest and sending him stumbling backwards. Elrohir went forward to take his father's place, but Erestor grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Don't. He cannot hear you." It dawned on him as he looked at Glorfindel in morbid fascination, for even the space around his ears was burnt beyond recognition. Glorfindel stilled, trembling with pain. There were tears pouring down his cheeks. Erestor had never seen him cry from any physical pain. His eyes darted blindly around the room. The darkness of his mouth moved in silent agony, and Erestor felt his chest grow tight.

Elrohir drew back. Erestor swallowed and sunk to his knees by Glorfindel's dying figure.

"I know you cannot hear me, but I hope you will recognize me," he said softly. He reached lightly for Glorfindel's clenched fist. Glorfindel drew his hand back to his chest.

"Glorfindel." Erestor reached again, touching Glorfindel's burnt fingers, his touch feather-light. Glorfindel's eyes darted from side to side, but he did not draw away again.

"It is me." Very gently Erestor took Glorfindel's hand in both of his own, raising the stiff fingers to his face. He drew Glorfindel's fingers across his own forehead, and the crumpled skin felt dry like a shriveled leaf. Erestor shuddered and drew Glorfindel's hand over his cheeks, his chin. Slowly Glorfindel's tenseness lessened.

"Erestor." His voice was choked. Erestor held Glorfindel's hand to his jaw so that he could feel his nod. Glorfindel shuddered with relief.

"Erestor," he whimpered. He clutched at Erestor's hair, holding tight. "Erestor, please. Please, do not let me die a-again. Please!"

"I won't." Glorfindel could not hear him, but Erestor said it anyway. "I won't. You're okay."

"It hurts. Oh, Valar. Oh, Valar." His disfigured face contorted with pain, and Glorfindel gasped for air. His blind eyes looked to the ceiling, wide and terrified. "I am going to d-die."

"You will do no such thing." The stern note in Erestor's voice might have been humorous in any other circumstance, but nothing was humorous now.

Erestor had known, of course, that Glorfindel had died in Gondolin, fighting a balrog in defense of his people, reduced to fleeing refugees. It was legend; it was myth; it was a tale told of valor and sacrifice and selflessness to children to teach them virtue. But here, for Glorfindel, there was nothing heroic about it. Death was death.

Erestor had assumed that Glorfindel had died when he hit the ground. He had not considered the possibility that he could have lain there and burned to death. The thought made him nauseated.

"I know it hurts. I know." Erestor moved his hand slowly down Glorfindel's arm, and his heart clenched as Glorfindel flinched. When he came to the true wound, he held out his other hand towards Elrond.

"Give me something that will help him." He did not take his eyes off of Glorfindel. In his peripheral vision, Erestor could see Elrond hesitate.

"Now, Elrond!"

Elrond jolted back to himself. He picked up a small container and put ointment on his fingers, pressing his hand to Erestor's. It was cool and smelled sweet. Erestor brought his second hand to gently touch Glorfindel's wound.

He could see the confused relief on Glorfindel's face. He was still trembling, weeping silently, but with the source of real pain gone, Erestor watched him unwind himself from his terror. As if being enveloped by his body, the burns slowly disappeared beneath his pale skin. His eyes cleared.

Glorfindel opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He choked, gasping, and even as he dissolved into sobs, Erestor wrapped his arms tight around him and let Glorfindel crumple against his chest.

Erestor had never, in all the time he had known him, seen Glorfindel let himself cry in earnest. He cried in private when it was just the two of them, but there was always a degree of tension, an unwillingness, a shame that lingered on Glorfindel him as he wept and for days after. Nothing Erestor said could change this.

But now, Glorfindel wept unabashedly, like a child, trembling and sobbing and not trying to control himself. He clutched at Erestor's robes, tucking his face in the crook of Erestor's neck even as Erestor held him close. Erestor hid his face in Glorfindel's hair and tried to breathe.

It took several minutes for Glorfindel's sobs to fade to little hiccups, and then he finally fell into silence. Elrond and Elrohir had left them. Glorfindel's hand pawed at Erestor's chest until he found a strand of his hair to hold.

"You s-saw." His voice was muffled, for he didn't lift his head. "You know now."

Erestor felt his own tears burn.

"I would give my life to save you from more pain," he whispered. "Valar, Glorfindel. You are the strongest person I know. I would not have your strength tested again."

Glorfindel shuddered.

"You have borne the burden of protecting people all your life, and you have paid the price. You do not have to anymore." Glorfindel was crying again.

"Let me protect you. Let me take care of you."

"I d-don't know how," Glorfindel choked.

"I will teach you. You are never alone."

Slowly, Glorfindel relaxed in his arms. When he spoke, it was a breathy whisper.

"Okay."

Erestor had never felt more relieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! If you want to know more about the soul-wounds thing, here is a quote from IMDB about Thranduil's scar (which is the same concept):
> 
> "Thrandiul's sudden scars reflect a little emphasized of Tolkien's lore: elves' "Fëar" (a metaphysical concept analogous translatable as "soul") occasionally influences the "Hröa" (the fleshly, physical body), particularly under moments of extreme stress. This can manifest as extreme physical changes that reflect the mind's state, in this case deep war scars."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel returns from patrol changed, and Erestor must get to the bottom of why.

When Glorfindel returned from patrol, even Erestor could not help but stare at him.

There was a gauze wrapped around his head, utterly drenched red on one side with an ever-growing stain. Erestor could not remember the last time that Glorfindel had returned home hurt. But stranger still was his hair. When he had left, it had been down to his hips. Now it was haphazardly chopped, reaching nearly to the bottom of his shoulder blades on one side; on the other, the curls dangled at the level of his ear.

“Glorfindel?” Erestor said, and he could hear the shock in his own voice. Glorfindel flinched. His gaze when it landed on Erestor was sharp and guarded.

“Are you all right?” Erestor searched Glorfindel’s face for a sign of his feelings, but there was nothing to be seen; Glorfindel was usually open, but when he closed his heart it was absolute, and he was utterly unreadable now.

Glorfindel glanced back to the rest of the patrol, who were slowly making their way into the House to report to Elrond.

“I have to go with them,” he said dully.

“You’re hurt,” Erestor pointed out. “Protocol would have you go to the healers first.”

"It’s nothing.” By the amount of blood on the bandage, Erestor could tell that it was most certainly not nothing. The bloodstain had grown noticeably, even in the few short minutes since Glorfindel’s return.

“Don’t lie,” Erestor said. His eyes narrowed.

Glorfindel’s jaw clenched, and he looked away.

“It’s still bleeding—” Erestor began.

“Would you just _leave it?”_ Glorfindel snapped, and suddenly his blazing eyes were on Erestor again. “I don’t need help.”

Erestor’s chest tightened. His instinct was to snap a retort for the harsh words, and already his tongue itched with the desire to speak hurtful things.

But that would do neither of them any good.

He looked up at Glorfindel, who looked more like a caged animal in this moment than anything else, with his bared teeth and the terrible tension in his shoulders. Erestor felt a swell of pity. He cleaned his fist and forced his tone to level and calm.

“I’ll come see you when you’re done reporting,” he said. “Okay?”

Glorfindel turned and followed his patrolmen without a word, and Erestor watched him go.

* * *

Glorfindel was not happy when Elrond told him he would need to get his ear stitched up, even though he had expected it from the amount of blood. He was not reluctant because it would hurt—though it would, for his ears were sensitive—but because the thought of anyone staying that close to him for any length of time when he was so on edge made him want to vomit.

Glorfindel was not sure how he convinced Elrond to let him stitch it up himself. But here he was, sitting in front of the mirror, a needle and thread by his side as he unwound the bloodied bandage from his head.

There was a knock at the door. Glorfindel flinched away just as Erestor came in, and it made his ear throb.

“I brought tea…” Erestor said. His eyes went wide as he took in the sheer amount of blood that was streaming down Glorfindel’s neck now that there was no bandage to hold it in.

“What’s happened?” he demanded. His hand raised and Glorfindel flinched back, one arm coming up in front of his face as he turned sharply away. He could feel himself beginning to tremble, and his fists were clenched tightly.

Glorfindel heard Erestor step back. Slowly, Glorfindel drew himself up and out of his protective stance, though he was still shaking.

“I’m sorry,” Glorfindel said. He choked on the words, and his face burned. “I—I need to stitch my ear. You will not want to watch.”

“Let me see.”

“You do not want to see—Erestor, _stop_. All right? Please just let me do this. Please.”

Erestor drew away. Glorfindel at last turned back to the mirror, taking a long breath to steady his hand ere he took up the needle.

His ear was still bleeding profusely; it was cut down the side and across the top, and the tip was missing completely. It was replaced by a harsh, flat edge of bloodied flesh. The tip would grow back, but the sight of it still made Glorfindel’s eyes water.

He pressed the wound closed and pressed the needle through, over and over. It _hurt,_ but he stayed steady and still even as his tears fell and blurred his vision.

When he was done, he put the needle over the fire to sterilize it again and sat down on the couch. Erestor was pouring tea for him, and he pressed it into Glorfindel’s hands. They sat there in silence until Glorfindel’s cup was half-empty.

“Will you please tell me what happened?” Erestor said softly. “How could _anything_ get close enough to hurt you like that?”

“They didn’t. You know me better than that.” Glorfindel managed a small smile.

“Then how…”

“ _I_ did this.”

Erestor stiffened. His brows came close over his eyes.

“What— _why?”_

“An orc grabbed my hair. Tried to pull me back on its blade.” The memory made him shudder. “I panicked.”

Erestor was quiet for a long moment. His eyes were as unreadable as always as they drifted across Glorfindel’s face to his ear, and then to his haphazardly-cut hair. Glorfindel’s throat tightened.

“That’s why you’ve been so jumpy,” Erestor said. Glorfindel nodded, and after a moment he turned his face away.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier,” he said quietly. “I was wrapped up in it.”

“It’s all right,” Erestor said, but Glorfindel knew it was not.

“Do you want…” Erestor’s voice drifted off, and his gaze was fixed on Glorfindel’s face, apparently not content with his earlier examination. Glorfindel stayed still until Erestor drew back to sit more comfortably in his chair and the intensity of his gaze eased.

“Do you want me to cut your hair? It’s quite uneven.” Glorfindel knew that Erestor was teasing, even though he did not smile.

“Not right now,” he said. “I’m still…jumpy, as you put it.” He smiled a little. “Maybe tomorrow. Certainly before I leave my room.”

“Okay.” Erestor said. His gaze was still on Glorfindel, and after a moment Erestor shook his head.

“It’s a pity. Did you bring back the hair?”

“I did. For bowstrings,” Glorfindel said. Erestor nodded.

“You’d get a pretty price for it if you decided to sell it, you know.”

“And what do I need money for?” Glorfindel said, laughing and feel his heart lighten just slightly. “I don’t need money. I have shelter and food. I do not take any money from Elrond, even. You know this.” Glorfindel had worked for Elrond as his Master of Arms since Imladris’ founding, but he had never accepted anything from his lord except lodging and food and clothes when he needed them. He found no joy in riches.

“You could get something nice for yourself,” Erestor said, shaking his head and looking quite exasperated. “Some new boots, perhaps; yours are nearly worn through. They could be embroidered, even…”

“If I want boots, I ask for them and Elrond gives me the money. He gives me quite enough for something nice.”

“You get the same ones every time!”

“I do not want anything ornate. Only functional, and long-lasting.” Glorfindel chuckled at the look of irritation on Erestor’s face, for Erestor appreciated material beauty in a way that Glorfindel did not. His love for the material had diminished even further after his rebirth, with the awareness of his task and the fact that everything was temporary.

“You’ve greatly helped my mood,” Glorfindel said as he finished his tea. “Thank you.”

Erestor did not smile, but the look in his eyes made Glorfindel nearly as pleased.

* * *

Erestor brought Glorfindel his dinner and spent the night sleeping on his couch, for reasons that lingered unspoken between them. Erestor had already been sleeping restlessly out of worry for Glorfindel when that reason was manifest in a loud scream. Erestor shot upright and darted into Glorfindel’s bedroom.

“It’s all right. Listen to my voice,” Erestor whispered, grasping at Glorfindel’s trembling fists. Glorfindel was sobbing, shaking, screaming from pain. “You’re safe now.”

“I d-don’t want to d-die,” Glorfindel sobbed, looking up at Erestor with wide eyes.

“You’re safe. You’re safe.”

“I don’t feel s-safe.” It was a moment of utter honesty, unabashed. Glorfindel’s cheeks were flushed red, and in the low light his tears shimmered on his face. “I _never_ feel safe.”

“Glorfindel.” Erestor’s heart cracked in two. “Breathe, okay? Breathe. Just focus on that for now.”

“Can’t stop thinking about it,” Glorfindel whispered, but his breathing was beginning to calm. “Did you know that Elrond looks like Turgon? He does, more than I thought he could. And the twins have Earendil’s smile.” He was rambling, but Erestor let him, because talking seemed to help him calm down.

“It could end in a day. Everyone can die in a _day,_ Erestor. I want to protect everyone, but I— _I_ could die. I don’t want to die again.” He was calming down, as if the fears had so thoroughly ruined his heart that speaking them aloud was a respite.

“I _know_ they’re coming, even when they’re not. Every time I think that we _have_ to be safe this time, I remember that I—I _thought_ we were safe.” He slumped fully against Erestor’s chest, and his voice faded to a wavering breath.

“I thought we were safe.”

Erestor released Glorfindel’s hands and Glorfindel raised them to cover his face, shuddering once, twice more and then falling still. After a long moment, Glorfindel drew his sleeves over his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Glorfindel whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Erestor said. “It’s okay to be afraid.”

“It’s not okay for me to put it on you to deal with,” Glorfindel said. A wet breath shook free from his throat, and he let his hands fall from his face.

“Glorfindel, you _must_ confide in someone. I would be honored if it was me,” Erestor said.

“I don’t need to confide in anyone,” Glorfindel said. “It’s my job to not need to confide in anyone.”

“You will not be able to do your job if you don’t,” Erestor said. “Glorfindel, as strong as you may be, the weight of the world is not meant to rest on one man’s shoulders. Even if that man is a reborn legend, or a servant of the Valar, or a balrog-slayer. It is _too much,_ even for you. Do you understand me?”

“I can do it,” Glorfindel said. His voice was louder now, and he pulled away from Erestor’s embrace. “I can. You underestimate me.” He stood up, reaching absentmindedly for his hair. He reached on the short side.

Glorfindel paused when he did not find the familiar locks where he expected them. His arm hovered aloft, and in the low light his silhouette was strange and misshapen.

“You’re right,” Glorfindel admitted after a moment, and he laughed. It was a hollow, broken sound. “As you always are.”

“Glorfindel--” Erestor said. Glorfindel interrupted him.

“I’m not who I once was, Erestor. I wish you could have known me then.” His hand fell limply to his side.

“I am glad to know you now.”

“I am broken now, Erestor, and nothing you can do will fix me. Do you understand that?” Glorfindel’s voice was suddenly harsh, and Erestor winced. “Nothing. Comforting me when I am hurt, talking me out of panic—none of it will fix me. These wounds are attached to me, and they will never heal. They are a part of me now.”

Erestor stood up, letting a moment pass in silence. He stood by Glorfindel, looking up at his face but not daring to touch him.

“I do not aim to _fix_ you,” he said quietly. “I do not comfort you with some lofty goal of being your savior. I want only to be a good friend to you. Have I not done that?”

“You have,” Glorfindel said, and as he looked at Erestor his face softened. “Of course you have. I only wish that I could do more for you in return. You have changed me, in a way, and I have done nothing to thank you.”

“You have changed me, too,” Erestor protested. “Though I suppose perhaps you cannot see it. You have taught me about what matters. I was not so close with Elrond before. I knew him, of course, but I would not have called him my friend—I would not have called anyone my friend. And now I have plenty of people. I have a family. And you softened me enough to give me that.”

Glorfindel’s eyes were watering, but he smiled.

“I wonder if the me of my previous life would have been friends with the younger you,” he said. “I doubt it. It sounds like we were both quite snobby.”

“That’s not very nice, is it?” Erestor said, but his eyes were twinkling with mirth. Glorfindel laughed, and it was a joyful sound this time. Erestor waited until he had quieted before he spoke again.

“Will you be able to go back to sleep?”

Glorfindel sighed softly as he shook his head. Erestor could tell he was weary.

“Let me cut your hair, then. Unless you want to wait?”

“Now should be fine. I’ll try to be calm.”

Erestor recognized the trust in the gesture and it touched him. He went to his room to retrieve the hair-scissors (for despite or perhaps because of his vanity, Erestor tended to cut his hair himself). When he came back, Glorfindel was sitting on the bed still.

“Come to a chair so that I can stand behind you,” Erestor said. He pulled a chair over by the mirror and Glorfindel came to sit. Erestor watched Glorfindel’s eyes move over his haphazard hair and then rise up to Erestor’s face.

“It will be quite short, I’m afraid,” Erestor said. “Then again, I suppose everyone is used to your changing styles by now.” This was not the first time that Glorfindel had abruptly cut his hair, but usually it was done intentionally; he favored an all-or-nothing approach, and when his hair got so long that it dipped below his hips, he would chop it unceremoniously off to above his shoulders.

“I like being unpredictable,” Glorfindel said. Erestor scoffed.

“What?” Glorfindel was chuckling at the incredulous look on Erestor’s face, but Erestor could tell he was deciding whether or not he should be offended at the expression. “What’s that look for?”

“Unpredictable?” Erestor shook his head. “I would argue that you’re quite predictable.”

“I am not!” Glorfindel said, snorting on a laugh. Erestor put one hand on his shoulder in a gesture to calm down so that his head would stop moving, and at last Erestor began to snip, pulling each curl straight to measure it against the shortest one before he cut it and released it, letting the curl pop back into its shape.

“You are,” Erestor said, and his voice was soft. “From the outside, you’re the embodiment of your ideals. Selflessness, strength, valor. That makes you quite predictable, I’m afraid.”

Glorfindel’s face had gone solemn. Erestor was not quite sure why.

“But to those of us who know you better, you are predictable for your softness,” Erestor said. “Your kindness. It is not so bad to be predictable. It means you are unfailing.”

They drifted into silence and the words hovered between them. The only sound was the soft clipping of the scissors. Erestor worked carefully but efficiently, and he was nearly halfway done.

“I wish I were as good as you say I am,” Glorfindel murmured. Erestor kept clipping.

“You are.”

Clip. Clip. Clip.

Erestor brushed the cut strands of hair from Glorfindel’s shoulders, all of varying lengths. After cutting the longest part, he went back to the other side of him to look at the shorter part and be sure it was all even. As he looked at the stitched mess of Glorfindel’s ear, Erestor’s face softened and saddened, and in the mirror,  he saw Glorfindel’s face do the same in turn when he saw Erestor’s expression. Glorfindel had always hated to cause him sadness.

After a moment Erestor shook himself and moved to clip the last few strands, pausing to admire his handiwork.

“You’re done. You look like a little boy,” Erestor said, and Glorfindel laughed. His hair formed a halo about his face and the curls that were once long enough to stay down popped up in some places, tickling his cheeks and cupping his face. Glorfindel looked at himself in the mirror for a moment before he rose and gripped Erestor’s forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you,” Glorfindel said. Erestor knew he meant it for more than just the haircut.


End file.
